I am the World and I am Alone
by SheWhoInfectsWithWrtitersBlock
Summary: He contemplates his existence and history as he looks out the window during a World Conference. He is alone, and there can never be another such as him on this planet. It is impossible. May or may not be continued. That depends on the reviews and requests. The rating is T because if I continue, there may be some swearing. Currently there is none. The story kind of wrote itself.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not on any way, shape or form own Hetalia.**

**This story just came to me and I wanted to write it down.**

**It is not really difficult to work out who the 'he' is.**

**Constructive criticism is very welcome, and if you catch any spelling or grammar mistakes, please alert me. **

**Flamers, please take note that I also consider my writing horrible, and any and all flames will be ignored as th information is already known to me.**

He wishes they would call him by his _real _name, not the one they think is his. It does not fit him, does not feel _right_, not like his real name.

He misses the time when he was alone, except for his friends. They, his _'_fellow' nations, think that his true friends are not real. Well, there are a couple who can see his friends, but they are few and none could match him for age. None of them knew of the time when the fires still raged across the world, the time when the first drops of water fell from the sky. They had no knowledge of the wonder he felt when the first living beings started to swim in the water, or when they came out on to the land.

They can not remember the pain and horror when the meteorite struck the Earth, the pain of hundreds of species dying at once, the pain of so many things dying.

They can not remember marveling at the sky alight with colour from the young sun, the beauty of the stars in clear air, the first rain falling.

They are so _different_. They are so, so human. They are nations, but nations are formed of people. The land itself is important, but the people make up a bigger part. He can choose different forms. They knowledge of them came to him as the land changed.

He can still shift between them. He always will be able to do so.

He remembers his first form. It is a dragon, whatever colour and size he wants at the time. It embodies the power of the planet, the magic, the energy coursing through it. It demanded a living form.

Full sized, the four wings are large enough that one gust could knock a house down, the tail at least 100 meters long. He had not taken that form in it's full size for a long time. The cities of man are too fragile.

The other forms were that of the phoenix - when life returned after the meteor, the lion to show his growing power. Weaker, simpler forms are available to him - after all, he is the planet. He could choose to be a snake, or a tree if he wished. But in this world of humans, those forms are rather useless.

When the humans became more intelligent and wrote the first words, he found a new form. It looked like different from the humans of then - it resembled more closely the fae, who came just before the humans. With the fae, the magic became tamer in some places. They taught him spells. He does not need them - magic is part of him. Some beings like him appeared - they represented some of the smaller parts of nature - the winter cold and the summer heat for instance. They scorned him. He did not care.

Then the first nations came. He remembers them, vaguely. He did not interact with the much. They affairs of men interested him some, but he had no inclination to teach them what he knew.

As the humans spread, he decided on a place to live in, permanently. Humans had no qualms about hurting their planet, and in their fascination with the new things? He was in danger if they found out who he truly was.

So he settled on a small island, and took his newest form. It was less fey than the other humanoid form, less magic, more human. He missed the wings.

He pretended to be a nation. He created links between him and his place, to stop others from forming there and claiming that place as their own. Some of the humans that settle there, he teaches the power of the planet, the knowledge of how to harness some of it's power. He teaches some of the nations how to do so, through their people.

He was successful. No one knew.

The human world changed, and changed the planet with it. They destroyed mountains and polluted the air, fought wars that killed millions. It hurt, often. Scratches and headaches were almost constant companions these days, and sometimes he would lie in bed from days when yet another major species went extinct. Unlike the nations, however, he was not just the surface. He was also the rock beneath their feet, the sky above their heads, the molten core of the planet. Even if the humans used nuclear weapons to destroy and poison the entire surface, they would not be able to destroy the planet entirely. The death of all living beings would hurt, yes, so much that maybe he would scream for months and months from so the agony of so many things dying, like when the mass extinction caused by the meteor happened, but he would not die. The nations... He had grown a little fond of them. He decided a while ago to keep them alive. Ever since Prussia was dissolved as an official country, it was only the power of the soul of the planet that the personification befriended that kept Prussia alive.

He was contemplating all of this during the world meeting, as Germany tried to bring order back to the chaos that was the meeting. Nations were screaming and shouting all over the place.

_'Like little children_' he thought and smiled, for compared to him they were only children.

Then, he hears someone insulting him, and turns around to retort, as is expected from him.

None of them know who he is.

None of them know that his real name. None of them that he is the planet, none of them are aware of the fact that he is Terra.

England frowns, before spouting off a string of insults at France, who he does not really like, and turns back to stare, unseeing, at the window. He may have his fae and his nation friends, but he is lonely. He knows of no one like himself, no one who could understand the burden, of watching millions and million of years pass, each year feeling as long as the previous one. He is alone and he is lonely, and he wants to tell them but knows they would no longer accept him if he told them - he was not really a nation, after all. They would ignore him. Or perhaps they would not believe him. He did not know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. Never was, likely never will. I can only hope...**

**Chapter 2 is here!**

**AN**

**This is not meant to make England sound BAMF, in fact you could decide that it is another character who is the planet(s). I just believe he would be best _suited_ to the role. And he is also probably quite OOC, as well. But this is mainly for _my _enjoyment and improving _my _writing skills, so if you do not like it, you can _идти в баню_. And if you are wondering what that meant, it is a Russian expression similar to 'go to hell' or 'piss off'. The literal translation is 'go to the bath-house'. I assure you, it does mean 'piss off' as a figurative translation. **

**So, again, if you don't like this story you can **_идти в баню_. ****

****This is my warning to flamers.****

_****Thoughts are in italics.****_

**Published: 28th September 2014**

Sometimes he desolately wondered whether there were others like him, somewhere far, far away. He knew that in this solar system there were none. He had checked. After the catastrophe that brought about the extinction of dinosaurs, he had, in desperation and loneliness, used the his power and magic _(Same thing, really.)_ to send out a pulse, similar to echo-location, set on frequencies similar to his own energy. He did that every couple of thousand years or so, but there was nothing, or at least nowhere at all near him.

He had even teleported himself to those planets close by, draining the energy of the planet, arriving on the other planets in an impossible vortex of colour and ripped reality, letting his dragon world howl loud enough to be heard through out a planet, calling out for a reply he never received. The only things he found was that there were traces of energy on the planets, not as if the spirit died, but more like it never formed in to a coherent form, or any form at all. Those wisps were like voices that were faint and almost lost to the wind. Those wisps of energy clung to him and powered him, allowing him to go further than he could have gone on his own. But all the planets nearby were empty, and even when he fed on the energy of the sun, and impossibly screamed so much and loud that it became its own medium to travel through, that he felt his scream reach the ends of his galaxy. There was never any response, not once, not a single wisp or echo of a call, not a single shred of reassurance that he was not alone.

Whenever a meteorite struck him, he felt it, the sensation of something foreign, vile, _worse than dead __because there was no trace of it ever having been alive_, on his skin. There was never any trace of the energy, of life that suffused him, and by extension the moon. If he ever wanted to describe the feeling of a meteorite to someone, he would say that it felt like swallowing a large dead bug; highly unpleasant and disgusting, followed by an even worse feeling while it was digested, and the feeling only gone when the bug was completely digested and assimilated in to the body. Even rocks, while inanimate objects, were infused with his energy.

That was why he hated America's friend, that dratted thing called Tony. He felt _wrong_ to the spirit of the planet. While all the living beings on the planet that was him carried a trace of his energy, Tony felt dead, as dead as those meteorites, and what was worse, since he was a living creature, he couldn't be assimilated. He learned to ignore the feeling, bit it didn't go away. Everyday, he squashed the urge to destroy the alien, to burn, or crush it, to make an earthquake happen that would conveniently drop a house on the alien, to stop himself from simply snuffing out the alien's life by consuming it's life-force. It was a small struggle to stop what was natural - like if he had an immune system he could control, and stopping it from snuffing out a tiny, lonely bit of a virus.

After the jaunt around the planets of the system, he always felt when major events happened to the other planets and the sun, the energy from those planets having latched on to him as their spirit. He was still Earth, but deep in his heart he knew that he was the solar system too, because there was no one else to be their spirit. The energy could not form a coherent pattern on its own, so instead it latched on to something that worked and declaring itself part of him. The feeling of responsibility washed over him like a never-ending tsunami, staring when in a bout of fury he caused a solar flare to nearly fry all living creatures that were part of him. Tat was a close shave, and since then, he was always cautious to never let his anger get pent-up, always releasing it every once a while, as a solar flare, or a sunspot, or a couple of asteroids crashing in to Jupiter (he found that they always assimilated quicker there.)

However, he could mostly shut down his connections to the other planets and the sun. He could stop feeling and affecting them, though he could never quite sop being them. He was, however, immensely glad for them during the world wars, where he could feel his links to the country 'England' ripping, as the nation part of him nearly died, and the balance of the planet fraying and tearing, as the dominant species fought.

_Rather like a civil war, really..._ he thought. The wars were more painful than simple destruction, since the people's minds were a not insignificant part of him and having them tear at each other in mutual hatred was almost more than he could bear.

He had spent most of WWI and WWII as Mars. He chose it for the irony - Mars _was_ a god of war in Ancient Rome's religion, before Christianity.

He wondered why he kept Tony alive. Maybe it was a wish not to upset America and have to bear his tantrum, or maybe because he did not want to concentrate on _only _frying the alien ships if they decided to destroy the planet due to the death of one of their race. He shivered, wondering how they could survive on a planet with no spirit, where there was no energy thrumming in every part of the planet.

Loneliness and being alone were different things for most sentient beings, Terra knew. (Or was he Pluto right now, or Neptune? Was he feeling cold because there was wind blowing though the window, or was he just feeling the cold from Mars, whose surface should be warmer? He could not always tell, and sometimes, there were terrifying occasions where he was no longer sure of what planet he was right then, when he was or even who he was; where he could not find his way back to his mortal-looking form, when he was lost between everything he could feel and everything he had felt, and everything that he is.) For him they were the same thing, since even though he had his friends, none of them could _possibly_ understand fully what he felt, and he wished there was a fellow solar system or planet he could talk to, that would understand the burden of such a_ long, long _life.

It was raining rather heavily in Europe when he accidentally glanced up at the clear skies at night, and was reminded of his loneliness. He was alone, and there was nothing he could do against the loneliness seeping into his bones, as surely as the blood pumping through him.


End file.
